


Little Talks

by theboywhoscored



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gen, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboywhoscored/pseuds/theboywhoscored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six months since Sherlock jumped and John is still having a terrible time of it. He's seeing his therapist, he's working in the surgery, he's dating Sarah Sawyer...but he's still a wreck. Did Sherlock ever really realize how much he loved him?</p><p>(Future Johnlock)</p><p>NOTE: Sort of loosely based on my thoughts of "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men, and some lyrics are woven in here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Do you still text him?" John's therapist asked.

"Yeah, sometimes..."

"You know he won't text you back."

"Yeah, but it's still comforting. It helps me cope," John said, choking back tears. "I just miss him so much."

"It's been six months since the incident. I think it's in your best interest to try to move on."

John glared at her and bit his quivering bottom lip. "You don't understand how hard this is for me."

"John, I'm just trying to help."

"I know, I know," he choked, unable to hold back the tears. "It's just...I loved him so much, you know? LOVE him. I'll always love him. And now he's gone. I saw him jump..." He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

"John, it's okay. It's okay if you're not over his death yet. But you're hardly leaving your flat. Sometimes you can't even dress yourself. Your sleep is disrupted. You're not coping very well."

"No shit I'm not coping well. It's that flat...the stairs creak as I try to sleep and it keeps me awake...I always think I hear his footsteps nearing my door."

"It's an old building, John," his therapist said softly.

"I know, I know," John said, waving at her dismissively.

"Have you thought about moving out? Maybe getting something smaller? Moving in with your sister? Maybe a change of environment will help you."

"No. I won't leave that flat. That was _our_ flat. I can't. I...can't leave it." He wiped tears from his eyes and started wringing his hands, trying to get himself together.

"John, you know he won't be coming back."

"Regardless, I can't leave Baker Street. I _won't_ leave _._ "

"That's your choice, John. I'm only trying to help."

"Yes, yes I know. But sometimes talking about it makes it hurt more than it makes it feel better."


	2. Chapter 2

John climbed the stairs to 221B, groceries in hand. He carried them into the kitchen and set them on the counter. The empty counter. As in, no-microscopes-or-glassware-or-fingers empty. He opened the fridge to put a half-gallon of milk inside. The empty fridge. As in, no-cadaver-heads-or-human-organs empty. Just regular things. Milk, cream, vegetables, jam.

Oh god, John was actually missing the mess. Sherlock's "experiments" used to drive him insane, but now he actually missed them. He had grown accustomed to them. And now...well, now the flat just felt sort of empty. It felt _wrong._

He put the kettle on and made himself some tea, then picked up the morning's paper and started reading it. _Oh, they found a body in the Thames...it was mutilated...sounds like it would be right up Sherlock's alley..._

John swallowed deeply. _No. Not Sherlock. Sherlock was dead. He was dead. He had been dead six months._

_Stop thinking about Sherlock, John. STOP._

John threw the newspaper on the floor. Tears started rolling down his cheeks despite his attempts to blink them away. A sob escaped from his chest. He looked at Sherlock's leather chair across from his. It was empty.

_Of course it's empty, John. Sherlock is dead, John. He's dead. Dead, dead, DEAD!_

John stood up and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumper. "I need to get out of here for a bit..." he spoke out loud to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. _This is destroying me..._

He picked up a bottle from the side table and popped two milligrams of Klonopin, swallowing the pills without a drink. He then stood up and strode quickly over to the door, grabbed his jacket off the hook, and jerked it on. He left the flat, slamming the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

John hated walking around London alone. He saw Sherlock at every street corner, down every alley, on the patio of every cafe. There were so many times he could swear he had seen him...but that wasn't possible, was it? He was dead. He was buried. Dead people didn't just rise up out of the ground to get a morning cup of tea. John was depressed as all hell, but he wasn't crazy.

He sat down on a bench and took out his phone to send Sarah a text.

"Dinner tonight? -JW"

A few moments later he received a response.

"My place, 7pm. Take away. -SS"

He smiled. Staying in was good. They could spend some quality time together. When Sherlock was alive he was such a cock block...

Was. _Was_ alive. John choked as he mulled over the word in his mind. Past tense. _Was, was, was...Sherlock WAS..._

John shook his head violently, trying to expel the depressing thoughts.

A man who was passing by put a hand on John's shoulder. "Are you okay, mate?"

John looked up at the man's face, startled. "Yeah, um, fine. Just a headache."

The man smiled doubtfully and walked on.

_God, I look crazy..._

John took a bottle from his coat and popped another milligram of Klonopin before standing up and starting off back towards the flat. Three milligrams in an hour was a bit much, but he wasn't having the best day.

 _I'll take a nap before I head to Sarah's,_ John thought. _She'll know I've been taking too many of my pills and won't be too happy about it._

He slowly climbed the stairs to the flat, removing his jacket as he did so. He hung it up and removed his shoes before walking over to and entering Sherlock's bedroom.

He curled up in the warm bed. It still smelled like Sherlock. John didn't fight the tears that came as he began to drift off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock paced back and forth in his brother’s living room. He was obviously distressed, but then again, when was he not lately?  
  
“Mycroft, I need to go back to him. He’s hurting so much. _I’m_ hurting so much.”  
  
“I never thought I’d hear you admit that you possessed emotions of any sort, much less compassion. Much less _love._..I have often wondered if you even possessed a _soul..._ ” Mycroft drawled, lifting his teacup to his lips.  
  
Sherlock stopped pacing and glared at his older brother. “You’ve seen him. You’ve seen the surveillance on the flat. All he does is cry. Cry and swallow benzodiazepines until he he’s far too numb to feel anymore. It's killing me to see him this way, knowing that it’s my fault.”  
  
“Sherlock, you know you did what you needed to do. You did what was necessary to keep him alive. Your sacrifice was...admirable.”  
  
“Thank you for attempting to comfort me, brother, but you know it won’t work,” Sherlock sighed, sitting down across from Mycroft. “I need to let him know I’m alive. I need to let him know I love him...I’ve always loved him...Sarah is just so wrong for him, and he knows it! I hate seeing them together and seeing how _sad_ he is...” Sherlock buried his face in his hands, then raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated.  
  
Mycroft set down his tea and leaned in towards Sherlock. “Sherlock, I think maybe you should stop following him around. Stalking him isn’t exactly healthy, and, well,  someone might spot you...which could cause _problems_.”  
  
“Oh please...no one will recognize me...no one is looking for me, and even if someone were, I’ve cut my hair and dyed it ginger. I’ve also replaced my, ahem, ‘signature’ coat and scarf for the time being. I also never go near any of my old haunts. No one will recognize me.”  
  
“Well Sherlock, I suppose you can let him know you’re alive...” Sherlock’s face lit up. “But you need to wait a little while longer. At least another month. We need to prepare ourselves for damage control in advance. There are very few people who know you’re alive, Sherlock, and we need to keep it that way.”

  
“John won’t talk. John can keep a secret.”  
  
“Yes, Sherlock, but you need to realize that right now he has insomnia and nightmares and panic attacks and is often times abusing his medication out of desperation. And why? Because he thinks you’re dead. When he finds out you’re alive, well, do you think he’ll continue to wrestle with those demons? It will be obvious to everyone that something has changed. How will he explain his speedy recovery after months of black depression?”  
  
“Yes, Mycroft, I see your point. I just...I just hate seeing him like this.”  
  
“Sherlock, we’ll figure something out. We’ll find a way for you to go back to John.”

“Soon, Mycroft. Soon. Please. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this,” Sherlock choked, wiping away the tears running down his cheeks.


	5. Chapter 5

John woke to the blaring alarm on his mobile. His hand fumbled for it and turned it off. The sound made his brain hurt.  
  
He was still quite drowsy from his med fog, but the nap had helped some. A shower would help more. He crawled out of bed and slowly padded towards the bathroom. He peeled off his clothes and turned on the shower, stepping inside. The warm water felt nice on his body.    
  
He picked up the bar of soap from the dish and started to work up a lather. He had taken to using the same brand of soap that Sherlock used to, even though it was quite expensive. He liked the smell. It was comforting. It was even sort of arousing...John had always been a little turned on by how lovely Sherlock smelled.  
  
 _Oh Sherlock..._ he thought, his cock starting to harden. _You were so goddamn sexy...why didn’t I ever tell you that?_ John took himself in his hand and started to stroke slowly. He was still sleepy and his own hand felt a little foreign to him. _You knew I thought you were gorgeous, you must have...you knew everything about everyone always._  
  
 _God, you must have known how much I wanted you when we were in Buckingham Palace and you were sitting next to me in nothing but a goddamn sheet..._ John bit his lip and kept stroking, harder, almost angrily.  
  
John stood under the shower head and masturbated drowsily. _You had to have known how much I wanted you...why didn’t you ever say anything? Did you want me back? Goddamn it, I’ll never know if you wanted me back!_ John slammed his free fist on the shower wall in frustration as he finished himself off with his other hand, groaning as he came. After he finished he closed his eyes and leaned against the shower wall, letting the warm water run over him. _Sometimes I think I hate you for leaving me like you did, Sherlock. But then I realize that no matter what, I have never been able to truly hate you, and I never will be._


	6. Chapter 6

John finished washing himself and stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. If he could he’d spend eternity under the wonderful warm water, but it was getting late and he was expected at Sarah’s soon. He shaved, brushed his teeth, and tried to make his hair look nice before walking to his room to get dressed.   
  
He put on a button-down then picked out a nice jumper and pulled it over his head. He opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out a few condoms. _Hopefully I’ll be needing these_...he thought, as he walked into the sitting room and put on his jacket, placing the rubbers in his inner pocket. He took one last look in a mirror to fix his hair then left the flat.  
  
He hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to Sarah’s flat. He drummed his fingers on his knee and bounced his leg nervously. He made a point not to take any of his Klonopin right now, but as he thought about it, he changed his mind. _A little bit can’t hurt_...he thought, taking a bottle from his jacket and swallowing a single pill.  
  
He spent the rest of the cab ride with his head tilted back against the seat, practicing conscious breathing. John didn’t know why he was always so nervous when he went places. His therapist had proposed that it was because he wasn’t quite used to being alone again after being in a "relationship" with someone whom he spent practically every waking moment with. John was pretty sure that if she wasn’t 100% right, she wasn’t far off.   
  
He and Sherlock had shared hundreds of cab rides, to and from crime scenes and other adventures...now taking a cab alone felt strange. The seat was too empty. The ride was too quiet. He missed the laughter that they had so often shared in the back seats of these London cabs. God, he missed Sherlock so much...he was absolutely, one-hundred-percent John’s other half. And he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock took out his phone to read the text he had just received.  
  
“Going out to Sarah’s. I miss you. -JW”  
  
Oh god, how Sherlock longed to send a reply, an “I miss you, too. -SH,” but he knew he couldn’t. He was supposed to be dead.   
  
“You’re quite pathetic, you know,” Mycroft said as he entered the room with tea.   
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Watching him sleep.”  
  
“I’m not watching him sleep...”  
  
“But you were.”  
  
Sherlock bit his lip and accepted the tea cup his brother was offering him.  
  
“Sherlock, surely you know that I know about everything that goes on in your life. I always have, and with you hiding here...well, you’d have to be quite daft to believe I don’t know absolutely everything you do...and you watch him when he sleeps. Perhaps you should take a break from watching and actually sleep yourself...you haven’t for several days.”  
  
“I know, I know...it’s just...he looks like he’s in so much pain...”  
  
“And _eat_ something, for god’s sake...you’re starving yourself.”  
  
“Mycroft, how much longer? Until I can see him again?”  
  
“Soon, Sherlock. Now eat something and get some sleep.”   
  
_“I don’t sleep...”_ Sherlock snapped, but his brother had already left the room. He wrapped himself up in a light blanket and watched television as he kept an eye on the CCTV feeds from Baker Street, waiting for John to come home, wondering if he would at all tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

John arrived at Sarah’s flat at 7pm sharp with a bouquet of flowers. Sarah liked flowers and John likes it when she was in a good mood. He rung her bell and shifted his feet nervously as he waited for her to come answer it.  
  
“John! Oh, you brought me _flowers_! You’re just _lovely,_ “ she cooed, craning her neck to peck him on the cheek as she accepted the bouquet. “Shall we go upstairs? I ordered Chinese and rented a movie. ‘Third Star.’ It’s supposed to be a real tear-jerker but everyone’s raving about it.”  
  
John followed her inside and up to the den. She had take-away boxes and beer set on the coffee table and the television was cued up to play the DVD.  
  
“What did you order this time?”  
  
“Oh, I made sure I got some lemon pepper chicken, your favorite.”  
  
“Sarah Sawyer, you are a _goddess_ ,” John purred as he held her by both arms and kissed her.  
  
“Oh John, it’s just take-away Chinese….”  
  
“But I’ve had a bad day and spending time with you is making all the bad melt away. And the lemon pepper chicken is the cherry on top,” John said as he sat down on the sofa in front of the telly.  
  
“If you play your cards right you might get something nicer tonight than your favorite kind of Chinese food….” Sarah said suggestively, lifting his chin with her index finger as she winked and straddled his knee.  
  
“Sarah, as I said before…you are a goddamn _goddess!”_ John exclaimed as they locked lips.  
  
“Shall…we leave …the take-away…for…later?...I mean…that’s…what microwaves…are for…right?” Sarah asked between kisses as she removed John’s jumper and started to unbutton his shirt.  
  
“I...have...no problem...with that...” John replied as he started to unbutton Sarah’s shirt as well.   
  
_“Oh my,”_ he sighed as he got a view of her black lacy bra. Sarah wasn’t very well endowed, but push-up bras do wonders.   
  
“Bedroom?” Sarah asked, a grin crawling across her face.  
  
“Oh god yes!” John replied, lifting her off his leg and into a standing position as he got up himself. “Lead the way,” he grinned.  
  
By the time they reached her room they had gotten undressed down to their underclothes. John’s boxers were tented from his ridiculously hard erection, and Sarah was pleased with this.   
  
“Take those shorts off now, boy. I’m interested in what’s underneath,” Sarah purred.  
  
John did as she asked, and his thick cock bobbed in the air, standing hard at attention. Sarah directed him to kneel on the bed and he did, and she crawled up to him on all fours and delicately took him in her hand and gave him a gentle squeeze.   
  
“Do you want me to suck it, lovely?” she asked smoothly.  
  
“Oh god, yes, _please,_ ” John groaned in response.  
  
She took him in her mouth and used her tongue to play with the head for a little bit before taking him in as deep as she could. John knitted his fingers in her hair and moved his hand up and down with her head.   
  
“You don’t suppose you’d let me inside you yet, would you?” John asked as smoothly as possible between pants and groans.  
  
Sarah gave one last firm suck on the head of his cock and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Oh, I’d be delighted,” she cooed.   
  
“My rubbers are in my jacket pocket in the other room...”  
  
“Oh, no need for that. I have some in my bedside table.”  
  
“Oh, brilliant.”  
Sarah  took out a condom and carefully rolled it onto John’s cock, careful not to snag it with her fingernails.  
  
“Ahhhh, now let’s get those panties off you, darling,” John muttered as he grasped the sides of her underwear with each hand and slid them off her, revealing a carefully shaven pussy. He bent down and kissed it.  
  
“How do you want me, soldier?” Sarah asked with a smirk.  
  
“On your hands and knees, lovely, if that’s alright with you.”  
  
Sarah assumed the position John requested and he slid his cock up against her pussy and thrust himself into her.   
  
“Oh!”   
  
“You alright?”  
  
“Of course. Now fuck my brains out, Doctor Watson!”  
  
“As you wish...” he laughed.  
  
He thrust harder and harder, his brain starting to go foggy. He wasn’t thinking about anything except how wonderful his cock felt inside this person in front of him. His mind began to stray toward Sherlock again. _Oh Sherlock, would you ever have been the person in front of me? Would you ever have let me ram my cock into you until both our brains went white? Sherlock, why didn’t I ever let you know how I felt? Oh fuck...fuck....FUCK..._  
  
 _“Sherlock!_ Oh _SHERLOCK! FUCK!_ ” John shouted as he came inside Sarah.  
  
Sarah immediately pulled herself forward and off John’s cock. _“EXCUSE ME?”_  
  
John was _beyond_ fucked.  
  
“Uhhh...um...I’m sorry... _I’m really sorry..._ ” John stuttered.  
  
“Sorry does _NOT_ fucking cut it, you sick fuck!” Sarah screamed, covering herself with a blanket as she pushed him out of the bed.  
  
“I will only be seeing you and talking to you at work from now on, and all interactions will be work-related. And I suggest you see that bloody therapist more often! Now get your clothes on and get the hell out of my flat!”  
  
John scrambled to get his clothes on and bolted out the door. He really, REALLY fucked up this time.  


	9. Chapter 9

John got back to the flat after what seemed like the longest cab ride of his entire life. He had just sat there, stewing, mulling over the events that had just occurred.  
  
Yes, he did just scream out his dead flatmate’s name while he was fucking his girlfriend.  
  
No, that was not a very good thing to do.  
  
When he reached 221B Baker Street he stormed up the stairs and into the living area of the flat. On his way he had noticed that Mrs. Hudson was out, so what he was about to do would not disturb her.  
  
What was he about to do? Scream his bloody head off.  
  
“SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES! GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEADSPACE. IT’S BEEN SIX MONTHS. GO AWAY, JUST GO, GO, GO AWAY! I WISH YOU’D DISAPPEAR! ALL THAT’S LEFT IS THE GHOST OF YOU, AND THAT GODDAMN GHOST IS HAUNTING MY EVERY THOUGHT!”  
  
John sat down in his chair and leaned over, putting his face in his cupped hands as he rested his elbows on his knees.  
  
“This is fucking impossible. You made my life so wonderful and then you just,” he sat up and screamed at the ceiling, “TOOK IT ALL AWAY!” He slammed his fists on the arms of the chair. “God, I hate you for leaving me!” he moaned, running his open palms down his face.  
  
Tears started to roll down his cheeks. “I’m going to ask again…Sherlock, for me, don't be dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this…I need you. I need you here with me. I love you. I miss you. And I can’t stand having you be gone from my life like this.”  
  
John grabbed a glass of water from the side table and took several milligrams of his Klonopin. He was a doctor, he knew what was enough to kill and what would simply give him a night of pure unconscious bliss. He opted for the second…his life was awful but he didn’t want to die.  
  
“Beautiful, wonderful pills…I don’t know what I’d do without you. I thank you in advance for my night without thoughts of the hell I’m living.” He placed the pills in his mouth, raised his glass in a toast, and swallowed them before standing up and climbing the stairs to his room to pass out for a few hours. A few hours without thought. A few hours without pain.


	10. Chapter 10

It was obvious John couldn't take Sherlock's absence any longer—he was unraveling at a rapidly increasing pace. And quite honestly, Sherlock felt somewhat like a sadist keeping the one person in the world that he loved more than anything in the dark to the fact that he was alive and…as well as could be expected.

Sherlock heard John cry out about him, about how he was keeping an unwelcome residence in his head. He didn't know whether he should feel touched that he was still thinking about him so much after so long or if he should pity the man for what was, as far as he knew at least, just an unhealthy obsession and inability to let go.

Something must have happened at Sarah's…something bad. He was home much too early and he was quite obviously agitated. Maybe they had finally broken up? Maybe she had finally reached the point where she realized she was unable to compete with Sherlock for John's affections even in _death?_

Sherlock could no longer watch the one person he had ever loved continue to fall apart like this. He needed to help him. He needed to go back.

Sherlock stood up and got dressed, then put on his coat and scarf. He turned off all the TVs and was about to open the door when Mycroft opened it from the other side.

"You know this could end badly," he told Sherlock purposefully.

"I've reached the point where I don't bloody care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. Now if you would please move out of my way, I must be calling a cab to Baker Street."

"No need, a car is already waiting," Mycroft hummed, stepping sideways and clearing the doorway.

"Brother, sometimes you do things that make me hate you a little less," Sherlock said as he walked past him, allowing the tiniest of smiles to form on his lips.

_He would finally get to see John again...tonight. He would get to see John again TONIGHT!_


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock reached the front door of 221B Baker Street and paused for a moment. _Am I doing the right thing?_ he asked himself. _Yes...and if I’m not, well, fuck it!_ he concluded, and used his key to open the door.    
  
Mrs. Hudson wasn’t home but he climbed the stairs softly anyway. He continued all the way up to John’s room and opened the door as quietly as possibly. He was sleeping soundly. _Oh god, seeing his face right now, in person, was the most wonderful thing..._  
  
Sherlock walked over to John’s bedside table and picked up his handgun, unloaded it, and brought it into the bathroom, placing it underneath the sink. He didn’t want John waking up and shooting him.   
  
He took of his coat and hung it up, removed his shoes, and unbuttoned his shirt and carefully removed it, folded it, and placed it on a nearby chair.   
  
Sherlock climbed into John’s bed with him and pressed himself closely against him. John stirred, but he was far beyond lucidity. _“Sarah?”_ he asked, extremely groggily. He didn’t even open his eyes.  
  
Sherlock stroked John’s hair. _“Shhh...no, it’s Sherlock.”_  
  
 _“Sherlock? Oh....okay...I’m dreaming weird...hmmmph.”_  
  
Sherlock kissed John’s forehead. “Don’t worry, it’ll make sense in the morning.” John rolled over and laid his head on the corner between Sherlock’s arm and chest and put his arm around his waist. His lips were curled into a soft smile.  
  
 _“I missed you so much, John,”_ Sherlock whispered, stroking John’s hair and giving him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
 _“Sherlock I missed you, too...”_ John mumbled. _“I wish you were real...”_    
  
 _“I am. Just sleep. I’ll explain everything in the morning. I promise. Just sleep.”_  
 _“Okay...”_ he murmured, nuzzling his face deeper into Sherlock’s chest.   
  
Sherlock buried his face in John’s hair and continued to pet him, determined not to fall asleep. He wanted to be conscious when John woke up. It was the least he could do...John was certainly in for quite a fright.


	12. Chapter 12

Sunlight started to shine through the window in John’s room, causing him to stir. It didn’t take him long to realize someone else was in his bed. And then to realize that person was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock-bloody-Holmes, in the flesh, staring at him with those gorgeous steely eyes of his.  
  
John jumped out of bed. He nearly jumped out of his _skin_ while he was at it.  
  
“Sherlock...how... _how are you here?_ You’re dead! I saw you! _You. Were. Dead!”_  
  
“You didn’t pay close enough attention. As you can see, I’m quite alive.”  
  
“How did you do it?”  
  
“It’s not important. What’s important is that I’m here now, with you.”  
  
John walked over to the side of the bed Sherlock was on. “Stand up, will you?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Famous last words. John punched him in the face as hard as he could, knocking him onto the floor. “That’s for pretending to be dead for _six months._ ”  
  
“I watched you the whole time,” Sherlock confessed, rubbing the mark on his face. “I have cameras in the flat...”  
  
“OH! SO THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL _BETTER?_ YOU COULD SEE ME SUFFERING AND YOU _STILL_ DIDN’T DO ANYTHING FOR _SIX MONTHS?”_  
  
“John, realize it was as hard for me as it was for you.”  
  
 _“OH I’LL FUCKING BET IT WAS.”_  
  
“John, listen to me. If I didn’t jump Moriarty was going to have you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson killed. I couldn’t let that happen. As far as I know you’re all safe now, but I didn’t want to take risks. I came here last night because I couldn’t stand seeing you in pain any longer. Forgive me, John,” Sherlock pleaded.  
  
John held out his hand to help Sherlock off the floor. “I suppose if that is your explanation, I forgive you. But you couldn’t even call?”  
  
“I couldn’t take any risks.” Sherlock said quietly.  
  
“Well, I’m sorry for punching you. Sit down on the bed with me. Please.”  
  
“May I ask what happened at Sarah’s last night that you came home so upset?” Sherlock asked curiously.  
  
“Oh...um...well I sort of called out your name when I came,” John mumbled, looking at the floor, his face beet red.  
  
“ _My_ name?” Sherlock chuckled.  
  
“Yeah....well, if you have indeed been watching me on bloody cameras in here I suppose you would know that I fancy you quite a bit...”  
  
“Yes, I know. I’m quite fond of you, as well,” Sherlock said softly, putting a hand on John’s thigh.  
  
“Oh god! Really?” John asked, beaming.  
  
“Yes, John,” Sherlock said, before putting a hand on his cheek and kissing him gently on the lips.  
  
John climbed onto Sherlock’s lap and started to kiss him more enthusiastically, knotting his fingers in the ginger curls at the back of his head. Sherlock hesitated at first, but soon became a full and willing participant.  
  
Sherlock ran his hands up and down John’s sides as they kissed, and soon John got tired of the barrier to Sherlock’s touch and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Sherlock looked him up and down hungrily for a moment, then began kissing John’s neck and collarbones. John played with Sherlock’s hair as he allowed the other man’s hands and mouth to explore his bare upper body.  
  
“I’ve gotta say, I’m kind of liking you as a ginger,” John chuckled softly.  
 _“Mmmmmmm, maybe I’ll keep it then,”_ Sherlock mumbled into the crook of John’s neck.  
  
John could feel Sherlock’s erection pressing against him through his pants. He pulled Sherlock’s mouth off his neck by tugging him back by the hair. Sherlock looked at him, a little confused, and asked him what was wrong.  
  
“Nothing, Sherlock. I just want to get those pants off of you,” he grinned. “Lie back and I’ll pull them off.”  
  
Sherlock did as he said, lifting his hips so that John could get his trousers off. He was completely naked...he had never been _really_ naked in front of anyone before. He had been dressed in only a sheet before, but that still provided cover, and he wasn’t hard then. He and John locked gazes for a moment before Sherlock averted his eyes and blushed red out of embarrassment.  
  
“Have you never done this before?” John asked him, surprised by his reaction.  
  
“Well, no. There’s never been anyone before you that I’ve wanted to have sexual relations with.”  
  
“Wow...well... _wow_. I’m flattered? I don’t know what to say. Are you okay? You look terrified.”  
  
“Well...I’m not _terrified,_ but I’m not what one would call calm and comfortable. Please be patient with me?”  
  
“Of course,” John said softly, climbing onto the bed next to Sherlock. “Would you feel better or worse if I was naked, too?”  
  
“Ummm...I don’t know. Better, I think.”  
  
John took off his boxers and threw them on the floor, exposing his own hard-on. Sherlock gulped.  
  
John moved next to Sherlock and laid his head on the crook between his arm and chest. He started stroking his chest gently, moving his hand from the pit of his neck down to his lower abdomen and back up again. He would take in sharp breaths when John would glide his hand over his sensitive nipples, and would buck and squirm as John slid his hand lower down his abdomen. His cock was flushed and hard and screaming to be touched.  
  
“ _Please_ John, just touch me, _please_...your teasing is _unbearable!_ ” Sherlock whined.    
  
“Okay, okay,” John smiled, and on the next slide down of his hand he went all the way down to take a firm grasp on Sherlock’s cock.  
  
 _“HHNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!”_ Sherlock groaned, arching his back, thrusting his hips forward and throwing his head back. He had never had another person’s hand on his cock...it felt amazing.  
  
“Do you want me to put you in my mouth, Sherlock?”  
  
“Wait...I thought this encounter was going to consist of me pleasing you as a sort of apology for my absence...?”  
  
“Ha! That was before I found out you really are a virgin. You letting me play with you is _much_ more fun than anything you could do for me right now.”  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “So I am to be your plaything?”  
  
“Damn right you are,” John smirked, before kneeling between his legs, taking Sherlock in hand, and then gently guiding him into his mouth.  
  
 _“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh goddddddddddddddddddddd!”_ he groaned, lolling his head back and forth on the bed, the fingers of one hand knotted in the hair on the back of John’s head and the fingers of his other hand yanking on his own ginger curls.  
  
John bobbed his head up and down, flicking his tongue against Sherlock’s frenulum every time he reached the tip. Sherlock was wriggling under him, almost thrashing, saying John’s name over and over in varying tones, calling him _“amazing”_ and _“wonderful”_ as he thrust mindlessly into his face. John have Sherlock’s glans one final long, strong suck and then took him out of his mouth.  
  
 _“Why did you stop?!”_ Sherlock gasped, grasping John’s face with both hands and looking him in the eyes.  
  
“Well, if it’s alright with you, I’d love to fuck you right now,” John grinned deviously.  
  
Sherlock blushed bright red again. “I don’t know how to do that, John...”  
  
“Just follow my lead. If you don’t like something or it hurts tell me. Otherwise I’ll take care of everything.     
  
John took a small bottle of lube from his bedside table and started to get Sherlock ready. He was surprised by the first finger but got used to it quickly, and soon John was up to three fingers, which he knew was adequate preparation for his cock.  
  
He grabbed a condom from where the lube had been stashed and rolled it onto his cock. He knelt between Sherlock’s legs and lifted his hips, pressing himself gently against the other man’s opening.  
  
“Are you ready?” John whispered in his ear. Sherlock swallowed deeply and nodded, and John slowly pushed himself inside him.    
  
Sherlock gasped and dug his nails into John’s back. “You alright?” John asked, concerned.  
  
“I’m, I’m fine. I just didn’t know what to expect. It’s okay.”  
  
John started to thrust deeper and with a more steady rhythm, and Sherlock got used to the man inside him and started to very much enjoy the pressure on his prostate. He never thought this would actually feel _good._ John was panting and groaning and saying his name and it was all so very _arousing._ Sherlock reached down between their bodies and started to stroke himself and he just felt so good all over he felt like he’d explode into a million pieces.  
  
John kept thrusting harder and harder until he started stuttering Sherlock’s name. “Sher... _sherlock_...I’m.. _.I’m going to come._..” he moaned into his lover’s ear.  
  
“Me too...oh fuck! _Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!”_ Sherlock growled as he came all over his abdomen and chest. John gave a few last violent thrusts and he was coming as well.  
  
John pulled out and disposed of the used condom in the trash and then picked up his t-shirt from the floor to clean Sherlock up a little.  
  
“Sherlock, let’s take a nap. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”  
  
“That is a good observation, John. I haven’t.”  
  
The two men climbed under the blankets and curled up into each other, trying to be as close as possible. Sherlock was asleep in minutes.    
  
John held him close, put his lips to his ear and whispered, “I love you, Sherlock. Thank you for doing the impossible for me. Thank you for not being dead.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love getting fic prompts. 
> 
> If you have any, don't hesitate to contact me at positively.johnlocked@gmail.com!
> 
> Comments and reviews are great, too!


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